


The Demon's Delight

by Moiself



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambállins, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiself/pseuds/Moiself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he wants is to finish work for the day and head home, but first Dean has to make one more call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon's Delight

“Aw come on, Steve! I was just about to head home. Some of us have lives outside work you know...fine. Send me the address.”

Dean hit the end call button and waited for the message to arrive with the address of what was _now_ his final call of the day. He was relieved when the GPS showed him that it was actually between his apartment and the place he had just left, quite close to his home in fact, though the neither the address or name, The Demon’s Delight, seemed familiar. Must be new. He checked his samples, cranked up the radio and set off. 

_“You have reached your destination.”_

Dean pulled off the road into a small parking lot in front of a neat building set back from the road, a red and black awning out front bearing the name in a scratchy looking typeface surmounted by a huge sinister looking golden eye. He mutter under his breath as he reached for his samples and the messenger bag branded with the brewery’s skull and snake logo that held his iPad and paperwork. 

“...what kinda fucked up place have you sent me to now…”

The front door was propped open, inoffensive indie music spilling out into the lot, empty save for his van. Dean locked his door and headed over, surprised when he stepped inside to see not the creepy gothic sex club he was half expecting, but a luxuriously decorated room in the same red, black and gold colour scheme as the signage outside. Fancy carved chairs and tables painted in those shades were ranged around a stage taking up most of the back wall, raised booths one wrapping around two walls in a long L shape, a long old fashioned dark wooden bar lining the other. 

He headed towards the bar, peering over the polished counter. A bearded man around about his own age was crouched behind it, faced away from him, squatting to check the stock in the refrigerator, prepping for the night's trade no doubt. 

Dean hesitated a moment to enjoy the sight of the guy’s firm thighs and peachy ass, clad in sinfully tight black skinny jeans, a little flash of hot pink waistband and golden skin showing at the small of his back where his t shirt had ridden up. 

“Hello?”

The man stood and turned to face Dean, tucking an errant strand of dark hair, an escapee from his messy bun, behind his ear. 

“Sorry buddy, we’re not open until seven.” 

Dean hefted his sample cooler onto the bar and offered the man his business card. 

“Dean Ambrose. I’m here from the Rattlesnake Brewing Company to see a Finn...is it Bay-lor? He made the appointment with our office this morning.”

The man took the card and unleashed a grin on Dean, his warm brown eyes crinkling in amusement. 

“Close. It's pronounced Bah-lor...don't worry, I didn't get it right first time either. I'll let him know you're here.”

Moving to the far end of the bar, he plucked the phone from its base and made a quick call, returning to Dean with another smile once done. 

“He’ll be out in a few minutes, can I get you something while you wait?”

“Thanks, but I'm driving.”

“Not even a coffee? I make a pretty mean spiced caramel latte...”

“I'm usually a black, no sugar kinda guy.”

“Where's the fun in that? You gotta indulge yourself every once in a while. Live a little…go on...I promise you'll enjoy it.”

His voice was an unnecessarily seductive purr, the puppy dog eyes he turned on Dean rendering him powerless to say no. Watching the man fixing his drink was a reward in itself, even if he doubted whether or not he would actually enjoy the drink itself. 

The man bounced on his heels as his hands danced over the coffee machine, the sweet plump cheeks of his ass jiggling with the movement. Glancing up at the mirror behind the bar, he caught Dean staring, rewarding him with a cheeky wink. Rag in hand he slowly ran his fist along the shining steam wand, twisting his palm with a smirk to the mirror as he reached the nozzle end. He had Dean's full attention as he steamed the milk and finished the preparing the drink, his lower lip caught between his teeth as his steady hand created the sinister eye logo in the foam. 

Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned and placed the finished article in front of Dean, licking the last traces of caramel from a long handled spoon as he did so. He pulled the spoon from his mouth as if it was a lollipop, gesturing to Dean to taste his handiwork. 

“Name’s Seth by the way. You know, in case you need a name to moan when you taste that.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Seth, the cup raised halfway to his lips.

“You're very sure of your abilities.”

“I just know I'm as good as I say I am…”

Taking a sip, Dean had to agree. 

“That's damn good coffee, Seth, but it's gonna take more than that if you want me to moan your name…”

The opening of a door in the far corner of the room interrupted them, a cheery looking man rushing over to join them, his hand already extended, ready to shake by the time he arrived.

“Hi there! Mr Ambrose is it? Finn Bálor...sorry to keep you waiting, bit of behind the scenes drama there...all yours now though.”

“It’s fine, Seth here kept me company, and please, Dean will do.”

Finn led the way to one of the booths, inviting Dean to take a seat before sliding in opposite him.

“Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice. We're in a bit of a pickle and we need a new beer supplier pretty much straight away. We like to keep it local and you guys have been highly recommended and from what I've heard, you seem to fit pretty well with our target clientele.”

“What is this place anyway? Is it some kind of fancy strip club?”

“Not exactly. We're a cabaret bar...ish.”

“Ish?”

“Ever heard of boylesque?”

“You mean burlesque?”

“Like that, but with men. Boylesque. That's what we do, and why we’re suddenly short a craft beer supplier. When the last place found out what we do they decided that we were not in keeping with their family image and they informed us that they would no longer supply to us. We're not a gay bar, but we are definitely gay friendly...this isn't going to be a problem for Rattlesnake is it? We can stop right here if it is, no point in us both wasting our time.”

Dean smiled reassuringly.

“No, not a problem at all...we’d be more than a little bit hypocritical if it was. We're a family business too, our founder has been in a very committed relationship with his partner Mick since ninety seven, his favourite nephew who also works at Rattlesnake is openly gay and we’ve been a bronze level sponsor of the Pride festival here in town for the past five years. You may not have fitted in with those guys and their idea of family, but you're fine by us.”

Finn looked visibility relieved. 

“Thank god, I don't want to lose the artisan beer crowd.”

“We've got you covered there. Let me show you what we can offer.”

He opened his cooler and worked through his spiel, pouring tasters for Finn and Seth who had joined them, handing them the tasting notes that came with each different beer. 

“Smoking Skull IPA is our signature, we can do this one in cask or bottle. We can do Ringmaster Ale and the ThreeSixteen lager ready for draft by request, they’re both available year round in standard longnecks...stouts are bottle only..Bottom Line is our version of a traditional Irish stout, Mudhole is chocolate based.”

Seth and Finn diligently sipped at their tasters and made a few notes while Dean finished his presentation, allowing them to sample the brewery’s European style fruit beers, the berry heavy What? And the lemony sharp Shattered Glass. With the tasting finished, Seth returned to the bar while Finn placed an order with Dean. Paperwork complete, he walked him out to his van.

“Quite a range you have...I’m impressed.”

“If you want to survive, you have to keep up with the times. It’s like I said to Uncle Steve when I started working for him, we gotta go after the hipsters, that’s where the money is!”

“The owner’s your uncle?”

“Yep...and in case you’re wondering, I _am_ his favourite.”

That information seemed to bring a smile to Finn’s face.

“In that case, maybe you’d like to come back tonight, see the show as our guest.”

“Sounds good. See you later, Finn.”

Dean hopped into his van and made his way home, returning several hours later, showered and spruced up in dark jeans that he knew made his ass look edible and a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled back with the effortlessness that only fifteen solid minutes in front of the mirror could achieve.

Seth waved from behind the bar, beckoning him over to an unoccupied stool, his own earlier casual gear replaced with a pair of even tighter skinny jeans and a pair of red sequin suspenders, chest entirely bare underneath. It was a very good look for him.

“Glad you could make it, Dean. You’re just in time for the show to start.”

He leaned closer over the bar top to be heard, lips almost touching his skin as he spoke.

“I think you’ll enjoy the first act...you watch, I’m going to fix you a cocktail.”

Dean turned to the stage watching with intrigue as two red silken banners unfurled from the ceiling, Finn stepping out from between them once they touched the floor.


End file.
